Fires of Possession
by Guardian3
Summary: a not very nice, quite dark, angsty, and yet true-love-conquers-all in the end fic on how Kurama and Hiei's relationship started. Warnings: yaoi, blood, hideousness, lies, graphic imagery, language, and meanings, and a very heart-felt ending of completion
1. Lust: I.

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Fires of Possession  
by: Guardian  
guardian@phayze.com  
personal rating: 10/10  
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Author's Note:

WARNING: this is _not_ a pretty, happy, flower-petals-being-thrown-everywhere sort of fic. It's a take on how the relationship between Kurama and Hiei _could_ have gotten started, and I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. Meaning, that a fire-demon who has been outcasted from everyone all his life will not all of a sudden go dumb with the realization that he loves a certain youko-ningen. There's a lot of dark thoughts heard and/or felt in this fic, and for the most part even I get a little depressed when I go back and read it. The only thing that keeps me interested, is the fact that I know how it comes out. ^_~

Do know this, however. I am a firm believer in 1) true love, and 2) reasonably happy endings. So keep your eyes open for both those aspects. They may be a little lost in the beginning, but they'll definitely be found by the end.  
Apologies have to be made in the beginning, since this fic is going to be _very slow_ in coming out. Because of its content, and because of how good I'm trying to make sure it remains, I'm not staying with this fic like I have others. With my other stories, I try to write at least a paragraph or a page a day. With this one, if I get the urge to write on it, I sit down, write about seven to ten pages (or until my interest fades), then set it aside until I get the urge to work on it again. Sometimes this is the next day. Sometimes its a few weeks later. This way of writing may sound whacked, but trust me. There's not a part in this fic that I've written so far that I don't like. That's cool to me, so please have patience.

Last but not least: the style. I've never really set up a story like this one, and that's in short, organized triplets. There are three main sections - or books, or scrolls, or however you want to name them. The first is called Lust. The second, Lies. The third, Love. Within each section, there are three parts - two consisting of the action that creates the depth of the story, the third being a lemon. Which means that once the fic is completed, it will have three lemons within it. If this offends you, please skip over those parts. However, if you can stand it, I would advise that you wouldn't. The lemons are the most important part of the fic, because that's where you get a good eye-view on the development of Hiei and Kurama's relationship. A better explanation of my reasonings will accompany as the last part, after the completion of the fic.

And so . . . if anyone is still with me, even after all this, please - enjoy the show, and let me know what you think. It really is true that comments and criticism make the muses a bit more energetic in their work. ^_~

ja!

~ Guardian ~

ps. I know, I know! The title needs work but hey! I'm using all my creativity on the story itself, here! lol. 

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**I. Lust**

** Part I**

Kurama was living -_ dreaming, there is no_ - a nightmare. It was dream - it had to be - and yet there was room for doubt, for he could feel the heat of flames against his flesh, could taste the blood gathering behind his lips. Screaming voices echoed within his ears and thrashed about violently within his skull - not only screams, but thoughts and images filled with terror and death and darkness. He shook his head violently, trying to block them out, to shake them away, yet it did no good; they followed him as he ran, nipping at his heels like hell-fire. He wanted to stop, to hold his hands over his ears and shout loud enough to drown out the screams, but he couldn't. Not - _not yet_ - there was something - _following, after, stalking . . ._

He halted abruptly, thrusting the distraction to the very farthest reaches of his mind that he could as he took a sharp glance around, his eyes piercing each individual shadow or every nook and cranny nearby. He had run into a dead-end - _no problems with that; easily overcome_ - surrounded by small hut-like villages still standing. A shriek of fury rent through the silence and he whirled, his ki whip-lashing to attention even as he drew his sword. He held the hilt with both palms and hailed the danger coming upon him with a howl of anger, running back the way he had come, leaping atop first a barrel and then a roof-top and then out into the air itself. He struck, he came down, he hit and rolled; a second later he was gone, even as huge ebony-black claws rent through the soil and dust beneath him. Again -_ leap, strike, down, away; leap, strike, strike, away_ - and again he dove forward, just narrowly managing to escape the swipe of claws or the clacking snap of teeth only inches from his flesh. 

He was not entirely lucky, however; she caught up to him in a flicker-lash of thunder, her fangs sinking into the unprotected turn of his side and belly. He was plucked from the air and shaken around, roaring in pain, before at the touch his flaming hand she shrieked and he was released, thrown across the compound. Again -_ get up, leap, away_ - yet he did not strike this time. With a grimace of pain he growled thickly within his throat, his free hand flexing uneasily upon his bleeding wound - the other clenching around the hilt of his sword - as he took up the offensive, staying as clear of claws and teeth as he could with his speed depleted by half. He cursed thickly in his mind, snarling at his opponent as he flickered from one shadow to another - then abruptly stumbled, nearly tripping over a small, trembling bundle. It started and whimpered, drawing close upon itself as it tried to stifle its cry of fear as he awkwardly stepped over it as opposed to stepping _on_ it. With a snarled curse he turned to look at what it - 

It was a child. A human child. 

And she was coming again. She had lost him for a moment but now that vague advantage was gone and she was coming for him, hissing as she slithered lightning-fast across the courtyard, her tail whipping behind her, felling any building that happened to stand in her way. He looked from his opponent to the child, from the - _stupid ningen brat_ - and back again. He was going to leave the child -_ let it die_ - but one thought stopped him. One thought alone, and he cursed it - _damned fox_ - even as he dove forward, catching up the child in his arms and speeding away as she struck again. He could not carry both the child as well as his blade; it slipped from his grasp and thunked to the ground, wobbling slightly as the blade sank into the pliant earth. 

Still, he ran. Only when he found a house still standing, occupied still by other Ningens even then cowering in fear, did he stop. He kicked open the door and ran to an aging woman, dumping the child in her arms, ignoring her startled cry of fear and shock as he exited as quickly as he had come. She was after him and cornered him against the door of the cabin; he feigned left, then leapt right - she came for him, ignoring the Ningen hut completely in her irrational need to rend his flesh. 

Kurama thrashed in his sleep, crying out as in his dream he paid no heed to his wound nor his pain. He was off, running again, retrieving his sword, leaping to - _strike, strike, away_ - always fighting, always - _until death_ - battling to survive. She was too much for him, though. Too large, too strong, too - _fast; so fast_. He put on a burst of speed and fled her grasp yet again. Then he drew up short, skidding to a halt and whirling to face her. A quick, snatching motion and a multitude of burn-tinged ribbon floated away, flashing with the power of ward-sight as they disappeared in the darkness. His ki leapt at the freedom; she shrieked in mindless, blind fury and came for him yet again, and he met her force for force, the Darkness ripped from him, sealing him in a few breathless moments of silence. It fought, it conquered, it devoured - and he, apart and yet of it. She was lost among a sea of shadow-scales, her shriek pitching higher in a squeal of agony as fangs, claws, wings and tails lashed against one another, the Darkness wrapping around her and taking her down, slamming her into the ground. Fangs twice as long, thrice as sharp as her own sank past her shimmering iron-soft scales and into weakened flesh, slashing through to her very heart in three quick successions. She fought still, yet each movement came slower, weaker as the Darkness feasted. The world became shadowed for her, black upon black upon crimson bloody-red and black. And death became her. 

He heaved, Calling the Darkness to return; it whirled upon him, thrashing as she had, snarling and snapping, its fangs clicking shut only inches from his flesh. He stood there in silence, demanding it to stillness by his will alone before with a howl of fury it relented, falling into the nothingness it knew so well. Even so it lashed out at him, sinking bloody claws into his soul, ripping fresh wounds as fire-blazened eyes seared themselves into his mind. And then . . . completion. 

He grabbed the hilt of his sword where it lay sunken once more into the ground - that bare motion alone the one thing that kept him upon his feet as a bone-searing exhaustion took a hold of him. He closed his eyes, shaking his head violently to try and toss this away as well, yet it was not so easily a thing to be free of as the screams that still - even now - created a maddening back-drop of sound to his thoughts. He had to find a place of safety - a place in which to hibernate - while his strength returned to him and his body healed. Only one place came to mind; he shook it away irritably, baring his fangs to the shadows of the night around him. He would not. To go there would mean that he depended upon that one and - _I will never depend upon him_ - he would not give in to such a weakness. There had to be another place to go - 

The air sheared in half; lightning flashed - thunder rumbled across the sky as a bellow broke it in thrice, the memory of a thousand nightmares, a thousand bloody deaths, begotten into sound. Metal scraping raw against tarnished metal, the call of a creature for its companion, its lover, its mate, threw him to his knees. The ground beneath him trembled with that howl; the trees lashed viciously in tide-waves of hot, flame-scorched air as he grimaced, his eyes daring a single glance over his shoulder as he leaned heavily upon his sunken blade. 

There had been one - would there be another? 

A second rippling of thunder - _not thunder_ - answered his unspoken question. He clenched his teeth and turned back, letting his head fall forward, pressing the bandaged motion of his temple rest against the cross-hilt of his sword. He had taken one - would he survive another? Would this be - defeat? A gust of hot air blew his cloak back from him in a rush, causing his closed eyes to sting and water in response. This . . . no. This would not be a defeat. He had taken one; let another handle the other. 

Lethargically he pushed himself to his feet, struggling against the exhaustion taken over his limbs. He felt as if he were drowning in a lake of blood, thick and heavy and every-constantly moving . . . he stumbled, grabbing tight to the hilt of his blade. He stopped, set his jaw, and determinedly took a step away - yet was jerked back to his stance by the resisting lay of his sword. Blearily he took it up again and heaved, ripping it from the ground and stumbled back as it came; he just barely managed to turn his head in time before it would have taken a strike at his jaw and laid him low of itself, without the other's help. 

And then, with the raging howl of thunder rippling behind him and the scent of fire-scorched death just behind the reach of his shadow, he ran yet again. Across the lands, across the regions, the creature stalking his bloody trail ripped a whole through the Gate between the worlds, and still . . . he ran . . . 

**~ @ ~**

Abruptly Kurama started up, gasping, sucking great gulps of air as his hands clawed the bed-linens around him convulsively. His long red hair hung in ragged locks falling around his face, half-obscuring his vision as he sat trembling, sweat trickling down his back, gathering beaded upon his lip. A flash of lightning - the crashing boom of thunder - caught him off guard and he jumped again, glancing fearfully at the window. Rain was thrashing against it violently, spilling across the frame of his window, sinking into the carpet beneath in great pools, darkening the cloth . . . 

A moment of calmness, of rationality, and then . . . chaos. 

Complete and utter chaos. 

A second flash of lightning and he was there, a shadow illuminated only by the deep, bloody-crimson flicker of his eyes. A single, breathless cry of shock - "Hiei . . ." - followed almost simultaneously by the dull, gut-wrenching sound of the Jaganshi's weapon thudding to the floor, slipping free from the grasp of weak fingers. Dark red eyes wavered, struggling to shake off the lingering effects of the Koryukka - a single word, whispered to the darkness of the night and never heard as all strength, all lasting consciousness, fled. 

"_Hiei_!" Kurama struggled up from his bed and dove forward, just barely managing to catch the fire-demon in a grip that sent them both sprawling across the floor. Seconds later a foghorn sounded in the world outside, shaking the very ground-work of his home to its seams, shattering his window, spitting it forth in a spray of glass and splintered wood. Kurama threw himself over Hiei, shielding his unconscious friend as best he could. He bit his lip, swallowing back the pain as needle-sharp daggers dug themselves into his back and his arms. 

Once the sound and violence had faded - at least for the moment - he quickly pushed himself up, running his hands over Hiei's body in an effort to access his wounds and agonizing over each and every one. His shirt was in shreds, soaked and clinging to gashes too deep and too numerous to count in the brief seconds he was given before his door was thrown open. 

"Shuiichi! Are you -" A woman just barely past the turn of being middle-aged came stumbling through, dressed only within a robe hastily pulled over her sleeping gown. Her hair lay falling disordered about her shoulders, her dark eyes were wide and trembling, drowning in fear and worry quite evident in her manner as she stumbled to a halt a few feet from him, falling back a pace at the sight of the body lying sprawled beneath him. "Shu - . . . Shuiichi?" 

"Kaasan . . ." His eyes lifted to her, large green eyes mirroring her own, filled with such uncertainty and fear . . . and then -_ it_ came. A heavy, cloying wave of ki - ancient and dry as dust, scorched in the lingering traces of blood flooded his senses, leaving nothing but instinct behind. He reacted without rational thought, snapping forward and grabbing her wrist to haul her down next to him. She cried out, yet the sound did not reach his ears as he frantically tugged Hiei's scarf free and shoved it into her hands. She fumbled with it awkwardly, staring down at the fire-demon in fear . . . until Kurama took a firm hold of her hands once more and pressed both them as well as the make-shift bandage to Hiei's wounds. "Kaasan -" he pleaded, choking upon the word of endearment as the terror belatedly took over his heart - the fear of losing his best friend, his almost love - and of losing his mother - briefly taking precedence over his instincts of survival. "_Please_." 

Some vague, wavering look within her eyes solidified with fragile resolve as they took him in; he did not wait to hear her reply, but fled then. Tiny shards of glass dug into his hand and foot as he braced himself upon his window ledge and leapt - out, out into the darkness of the night - a muffled enchantment escaping his lips in a breathy rush as the fiery breath of air that met his flight caused him to cringe. Behind him a strong, warded _kekkai_ arose about his house, shielding it from what lay beyond; before him, the world writhed in darkness, at once orderly yet now unrecognizable as something huge lay intertwined about the buildings of the city. A few buildings had been felled; dead bodies lay scattered about, fires burned, chaos itself reigned. And among the very heart of the disturbance lay a dragon, larger than any Kurama had ever seen - larger and more impressive in height and build than even could have been thought in his wildest dreams. 

He landed harshly, faltering forward to his right leg as the stringing pain of the left foot - cut and bruised from the shattered glass of his window - chose to give out beneath him . . . yet his eyes were upon the dragon that had yet to see him. It had to have been at least a good six-miles wide if not twice that from whiskers to tail, its scales the deepest, darkest red, seemingly carved from the very breath of volcanic stone as it moved slithering, clawing, slashing and ripping its way through the city. It was like seeing destruction incarnate walk the face of the earth . . . and it was looking for something. 

For a moment he was stunned to silence, to stillness, in shock, gaping at the creature, his mind unable to comprehend the fact that it was here, in the Ningenkai, ravaging the buildings before and around him. To see a demon in the Ningenkai was not uncommon, but never had anything so large, nor so vicious and so bent upon destruction even come close - he had never even heard of one within the demon world itself, let alone the _human. _

Oh, Inari . . . He breathed, fighting back the constricting motion of fear gathering in his chest. _What do I do? _

:: Fight him, of course. :: 

She was laughing at him - she had to be - for as those fleeting words crossed his mind the dragon's reptilian head swiveled to face him, sharp almost-toned eyes narrowing to thin slits of color. His jaws hung separated by a bare few feet, revealing rows and rows of fangs each as long as his arm and twice as thick; blood and spittle dripped unheeded from his lips, hissing like acid as it spattered against the concrete and burned. One claw flexed, raping deep grooves into the ground as he turned his body in one slow, slithering movement, hypnotizing Kurama with each graceful turn of his scaled hide as his eyes paralyzed his movements. A dragon . . . Kurama had never fought a dragon, not even in his full power and prime as a youko. They were rare enough as it was in the Makai - how had one managed to find its way to the Ningenkai? 

_Hiei . . . where are you . . . _

In your room, fox. Wounded. Dying . . . Kurama shook his head violently, dislodging both the dragon's enchantment as well as the vocal return his own thoughts had come forth with. Hiei would never have said he was dying - Kurama often doubted if the Jaganshi was even able to say the words, for he was too passionate, too much the fighter to just sit back and wait for death. His little fire-demon would fight to the end, and so would he. He clenched his teeth, his hand tightly gripping one of many seeds he would need in the coming hour, forcing small pulses of youki into it to prime it for battle. _Come closer, baka-yarou - just a little more . . . _

The dragon recoiled, horn-like ears snapping back against a solid brick-black skull as it released a keening bellow of challenge. He flew across the distance between them, claws scrabbling at the roads, the ground, the buildings themselves and tossing them aside as he came. Kurama forced himself to calm and waited . . . waited . . . 

And then, just before the creature of death came upon him, he flinched, turning his face away as he simultaneously threw the seed as far as he could. There was an explosion that threw him against the far wall of the roof and sent him sprawling upon the ground. Yet when he opened his eyes, painfully moving to sit up, the dragon was still there, still high and nigh in health, without so much as a scratch upon its hide. His flash of his dream came back to him - of the dragon within it, and how hard she was to strike, to kill, to avoid. _Hiei . . ._ those had been Hiei's memories, and if _he_ had had so much trouble with the first . . . 

_No . . ._ He scrambled to his feet and ran, just barely managing to leap from the rooftop as one shearing claw lifted and smashed it into a million broken shards of concrete and mortar. He couldn't do this - he couldn't take care of a creature this large, this powerful on his own. Hiei had barely even accomplished the task of destroying the first, which had been weaker than this - and only with the aid of his own dragon besides. Kurama didn't have a chance. 

And yet still, he fought. Still, he dodged, striking when he could, falling back and fleeing, only to realize that none of his strikes had connected and those that did broached no damage. _I can't do this alone . . . I can't_ - he stumbled, and it was a fowl he could not afford; the dragon's claws swiped down in one long arch, catching his sleeve and breathing a whisper of pain across his arm before he managed to duck away - saving his neck but not his night-shirt as it caught and shredded. He rolled away just in time - every motion, every fleeing leap, just in time - thinking only to take the danger of the dragon away from his home and his family. The fight had been heading that way - the dragon guided it back continuously, as if even unconsciously it sensed that its original prey - that which had taken the life from its mate - lay within. With each turn Kurama distracted it and pulled it farther away - as he did now. His fears may hold truth within them; he may not be able to defeat this threat alone, but he would try. He would die trying, if he had to - Hiei had believed in him enough to come to him in his need; never in a thousand years would Kurama break the binding of that trust, even past all limitations of life, and death thereafter. 

**~@~**  
To Be Continued . . .  
**~@~**


	2. Lust: II.

***********************  
Fires of Possession  
by: Guardian  
guardian@phayze.com  
personal rating: 10/10  
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Author's Note:

hee... ^^;; okay, someone's stumbled upon one of my biggest setbacks. Darn. *snaps her fingers* I was hoping it would stay secret for a little longer. lol. j/k. Well, to tell the truth I'm no good at distances or sizes, so yeah, the dragon in the first part is probably way too big [or teeth too small... or something]. Gomen nasai. ^^;; Just think of it like this... if you've seen Poltergeist Report? Kurama's dragon's about the same size as Hiei Koryu-thingy. Hiei's was a little smaller.  
As for the Reikai, trust me, they know what's going on. ^_~ It just seemed like they were always a step behind knowing what's up before, so why should they know now? To go a little farther, I guess I should add one more warning to the ones of the first part: ie.   
THIS FIC HAS VERY LITTLE TO DO WITH STORY-LINE [just to catch everyone's attention. ^^;; hee…]  
Actually, the main focus, as I said, is on the characters - Hiei and Kurama's relationship in particular. There will be a story underlying it, but since the boundaries are so strict I am not going into it. There is an uprising, but you won't know why. It's lead by someone, but it doesn't matter who. Get the gist?   
One more thing: I have great respect for Shiori-san. ^_^; just to let you know. 

With that explained, read on, minnachan, and let me know what you think! I check everyone who leaves me a note and try to comment on their stories, as well. ^_^ kind of like a 'thank you' gift.

ja!

~ Guardian ~

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** Part II**

Hiei started into awareness; his eyes at once snapped open and narrowed, focusing upon a smooth, white ceiling, cracked through and bleeding thin, rope-like vines of jungle green. Within an instant he was wholly and completely aware of himself - and of the weight lying sprawled, half-covering him from shoulder to thigh. Instinctively he moved to strike - yet his fist hesitated only inches from the dark head cradled upon his chest. There was no feeling of youki within the being next to him, nor overlying powerful reiki - _ningen_ - and something about its scent seemed agitatingly familiar . . . his fist clenched tighter, yet he did not strike; with a silent baring of his fangs he turned his head, his gaze narrowing upon the room in which he lay. It was Kurama's room, recognizable simply by the impeccably neat desk with its books and papers arranged just so - and by the overly large, tropical leaves dripping from intertwining webs of vines yawning their way across the wall. These last were a change that frankly displeased the fire demon - an action made all the more acute by the fact that the vines coalesced together, knotted into a single apex - the heart of which he couldn't see from his position. Yet he could feel the fox here, somewhere, nearby, and slowly these minute details came together to answer the grimace foremost in his mind. He was careful then, although hardly thoughtful as he touched the ningen's shoulder, pushing her just enough to shove her away without waking her. Kurama would not take kindly to him if he hurt the fox's okaasan - not that that meant much to Hiei, but still, he was careful. Had she been anyone else, he would have killed her the moment he awoke, but seeing as the fox was so devoted to her, he left her be. 

Although protesting slightly with a tiny whimper in the back of her throat and the barest flicker of a grimace upon her features, she did no more than that, save for draw her arms up close to her chest and fall into silence once more. Hiei sat up, watching her dispassionately until she settled; he had never been fond of Kurama's ningen mother, although granted he had never gotten to know her - nor cared to. The human part of the once-youko's life was something Hiei had never liked to mess with, mainly due to the fact that he could not stand humans. They were awkward, weak, bumbling and - crazy. To say the least. Yet should the truth be told, it went deeper than that, for somewhere far, deep within the fire-demon's mind there was a place as yet untouched by any other - and in that place, there was a sense of unease with humans. In dealing with them on a relatively non-threatening manner he found himself bumbling along, unsure about what to say and what to do. They were just so weak and - helpless. It was like a normally ferocious guard-dog suddenly being faced with having to deal with a tiny, fragile kitten - _without_ killing it. He didn't know where to begin or how to go about doing so. In the Makai, around demons, it was easy. Kill or be killed. Be ruthless, be heartless, be violent and bloody - and you _might_ survive. But with humans . . . there was no ruthlessness, no violence, no unnecessary bloodshed. There was just - existence. 

Somewhere, in that place within him, he wanted to belong to Kurama's human world. He wanted to get to know Shiori and be able to understand what exactly sweet snow was and be able to react to all human things as the fox did. The first time he had seen a television Hiei had drawn his sword as well as the black flame to it in counteraction to an opponent unknown and most likely deadly - and Kurama had laughed. It had embarrassed Hiei although he never would have admitted it aloud; he had simply snapped a harsh reply to the fox's laughter, snapped his katana in its sheath, and glared. Things like that, Hiei wanted to know about - very far, buried within his heart and mind - yet he ignored that thought with such practice ease that he barely even registered the flickering of feeling accompanying it. 

It had taken years for him to perfect that technique; to narrow down useless feelings and dampen them so much as to barely feel a flicker of them when they arose. Even once mastered, he still strove to be rid of them completely and often imagined locking them away in the deepest, heaviest chest there was, barred by the heaviest lock of iron and steel . . . which helped little, but he was still young. In a few years there would be no more emotions to deal with, and he could be free to fight shameless and without fear or second thought. 

Again, a flicker - of loss. Simply ignored, as before. 

Once Shiori had grown still, he stood, scowling as he glanced from first one side of Kurama's room to the other. The door leading into the rest of the house was open - an inexplicit detail, to say the least. The fox was adamant about his privacy, though, and was normally loathe to make his den - although currently ningen and somewhat less prodigious in the thieving area - so easily accessible. A little farther in than that, and the impeccable cleanliness of the room was shattered by the appearance of glistening shards of glass upon the floor, small chunks of mortar, leaves, and dirt - all, suspiciously distant from where he had lain. 

And there . . . the fox himself. Thankfully still alive. 

Hiei's dark eyes settled upon the apex of the vines-webs, a humorless smirk coming to his lips; he should have known. That youko was dramatic, even in unconsciousness, for Kurama sat leaning against the wall beneath he broken remnants of his window, his face turned to the side, hidden by a tangled mane of red hair. His nightclothes were torn and sheered, in places matted and stained dark with blood; his hands were lifted above his head, wrists locked and bound by a particularly soft strap of vine devoid of thorns and sharpened leaves. All around him loomed a cage of fierce, viscous-looking plants - some pure roses, a few half-breed tangents here and there, yet mostly the cage was created of hook-like spines armed with barbed blossoms. It was a threatening, intimidating sight, and not all-together devoid of veracity; should any being come too close, even that of his very own ningen mother, the barbs would not think twice in reaction of defense. He was wounded and exhausted; in the Makai that meant certain death to any who could not rig efficient traps or use their youki to protect themselves. Old habits die hard - and instincts never do. 

Hiei took a good, long look at this cage and the fox within. Some slight ache within his chest that he had taken to be one of his wounds and ignored - abruptly eased, leaving him somehow relieved. He mentally pushed this relief aside and took one step closer to the caged youko - and stopped. In response five if not ten of the blossoms snapped up, rustling and hissing as they drew themselves forward. The vines knitted themselves closer and grew longer, coiling defensively around their charge and thus half-hiding the red-headed creature from view. 

Only with a small portion of attention did Hiei notice this, for he was looking down with a grimace, his right hand pressed against his left side where one of the more painful of his wounds had rent open. The dragon had sunk her fangs into him here, and there was very little doubt that there was poison within the wound itself - dragon-poison, whose death was slow and cure extremely rare. Hiei pushed that knowledge away to the depths of his mind, labeling it as inconsequential; first it must be determined that Kurama was all right even if wounded - he himself could find a cure later, if need be. 

Thin trickles of blood slipped from betwixt his fingers, dampening the already crusted scraps of his shirt to his skin, yet as before he ignored both this as well as the pain. Neither were important for now. His crimson eyes lay instead upon the flowers currently keeping him from Kurama with a frigid, calculating glare, and waited. 

Almost immediately his consciousness was tweaked with the flare of a weak mind stirring to, accompanied by the rustle of cloth behind him; he did not turn, nor take notice of Kurama's mother as she woke and sat up. She was none of his concern, after all; the only inclination he felt in protecting anyone was toward that of Kurama himself and no other. If she got herself killed being reckless around an unconscious youko, it was nothing to him. 

A soft, sharp gasp of air and then - "Shu - Shuiichi?" 

Hiei whirled around and caught her arm, yanking her back a pace and nearly throwing her to the floor as she tried to run to Kurama's side. Just in time; one of the blossoms let forth a piercing shriek and released its darts - which narrowly missed the ningen, embedding themselves in the wall opposite with a dull _thunk_, thin trickles of green poison trailing themselves beneath. Kurama's okaasan - _Shiori_ - stared at first the cage of vines about her son, to Hiei from her position on the floor at his feet - and then to the poisoned darts that had so thoughtlessly strove to claim her life. She was trembling, her eyes wide and her breathing erratic; Hiei deliberately released her arm, drawing her attention to him once more as she immediately clutched the limb as if in pain. 

"What -" she gasped, choking back upon her words as she spoke; her face was pale, yet slightly flushed - her brown eyes unfocused. She was in shock. "What's - going - _on_? Shuiichi? My baby - what's -" 

"Urusai." Hiei grunted, crossing his arms and scowling. "Your - _son_ - is fine." 

"Who . . ." the ningen was confused now, trying desperately to understand. Hiei felt no pity for her. 

"Hn. Leave, ningen." She didn't exactly move very much, yet started violently when he glared at her, one corner of his lip lifting to bare a particularly sharp fang at her unresponsiveness. He felt no pity for her, and felt no remorse for frightening her - _another brief twinge of emotion, forgotten in a moment_ - yet as he turned away - as a duty to the fox and nothing more - he muttered gruffly, "He will come to you when he wakes." It was neither a lie nor a promise; it was simply fact, for once Kurama regained his wits enough to realize his mother had been in danger he _would_ race to her side to make sure she was all right. Besides going into shock she was quite fine - and apparently quite deaf. Hiei rounded on her with a snarl. "Leave! _Now_!" 

Perhaps it was his tone, or the ferocious shadow of promised death within his eye, but either way it sank in this time. Shiori gasped faintly and scrambled to her feet, bowing a bit awkwardly a few times in muddled respect and honor in hopes he would not harm her before she disappeared from the room. The door still lay gaping open after her - _a flicker of remorse_ - and Hiei scowled again. He didn't like that; it was not familiar to have Kurama's bedroom so blatantly displayed to all the rest of humanity - only his window remained open, in the off-chance that Hiei should come. Somehow that had registered in the fire-demon's mind as meaning that only he was allowed to view the fox in his realm of privacy, which - in an oddly feral way - made the fox his, and his alone. To even think of the fox being seen by others with his guard down infuriated him. 

Still, the open door was a minor detail easily brushed aside. The plants around Kurama however . . . were a different story. Hiei stepped forward again, eyeing the poisoned blossoms as they tracked his every movement; his intention was not to bait them, however - only to retrieve his sword. This didn't turn out to be the simplest of acts, as his whole left side appeared to be numb, his left leg stiff and sore. Even so, he forced himself to snatch up the hilt of his katana and land it hard upon the floor, causing the blade to sink into the carpet. He leaned upon it heavily for a moment before shifting his grip, and advancing upon the hissing mass of shrubbery between he and his fox. Three wayward darts dove into the floor by his ankle; he did not hesitate. They moved in as if to strike - yet drew up short, flowed back, and then surged forward once more, extending to re-intertwine themselves behind him; within seconds he stood within the cage of thorns, Kurama's youki having tagged his own and recognized it as the only one it dared to trust when harmed. 

_Baka._ Hiei thought mildly, looking down upon the wounded ningen before him in faint discomfort and irritation; he would rather the thorns have attacked him. You should never trust me. Still . . . deep within, such blind trust and faith in him created another short-lived flicker of emotion, this one warm and yet laced in pain. He ignored this, once more embedding his blade in the floor. Leaving it behind to stand upon its own, he kneeled before Kurama awkwardly, resting his arms upon his knees as he visually assessed what damage the fox had undergone. It appeared to be mild; more bruises and scratches as opposed to actual wounds - save for his hands, which were shredded and dark red with dried blood. Bound as they were above his head, they had been positioned to prevent unnecessary amounts of blood to flow into the wounds and thus out - this, in turn, enabled the fox's hands to heal themselves faster. Clever, even for one who was unaware, and spurred by subconscious acts of his own youki. 

Hiei reached out, brushing the back of his knuckles along Kurama's cheek - a bare, feather-light touch too gentle to have come from the normally gruff fire-demon. 

Kurama stirred in response, a sigh escaping pale lips as he turned his face toward the warmth. "Hiei . . ." 

Without a word, Hiei drew his hand back to rest once more upon his knee. In silence he waited as the fox awoke upon his own. The softened vines around the fox's wrists slithered away and released him as expressive green eyes fluttered open to focus upon the fire-demon crouching by his side. "Hiei . . ." said more firmly this time as Kurama stirred and sat forward, lethargically staring at the blood crusted on his palms. Memory came to him in a rush and his stiffened, his gaze snapping up and darting about the room. "Kaasan -" 

"Safe." 

Kurama's shoulders relaxed a shade, but not much as his jaw grew firm and grim. "The dragon -" 

"Hn. Dead." Hiei stood without a trace of stiffness or pain - an act that cost him everything - and covered his weakness in strength by gripping the hilt of his sword. He smirked down at the fox wryly. "Or else you'd be." 

"Where did it come from? Why was it here?" 

"Move your plants, fox." 

"Hiei -" Kurama's eyes darkened as he stood as well; the thorns rustled and drew back obediently, despite the fox's vexation. "Tell me! What happened before you came here? What's going on?" 

_ Don't you mean, what have I done, fox? Isn't that what you're really asking? _

"There was a dragon in the Makai. She had a partner. I killed one, you killed the other." Simple. Clean. Brutal. Hiei coiled his muscles tight and attempted to dislodge his blade from the floor without faltering. It almost worked; it almost went by unseen and unnoticed, save for the fact that Kurama had known him for years - longer than any other as yet left in life - and knew even without directly seeing it that something was wrong. 

"You're wounded." He accused flatly, stepped forward to block Hiei's path, deliberately making the fire-demon halt his pace or lose his pride by wavering. 

He glared back, daring the fox to challenge him, even as Kurama dared him to deny his accusation. Needless to say, it was an old argument and one Hiei lost every time; within a few minutes he was sitting upon Kurama's desk, his shirt a ripped black shred of cloth beside him as the red-haired ningen inspected the numerous wounds upon his person. Stubborn and seemingly infuriated, Hiei said nothing, bearing the youko's kindness with a stoic sort of attitude and outlook that frankly reassured his friend. Had he been talking, or engaged in any other action even remotely friendly or companionable, Kurama would have seriously begun to worry. As it happened, everything was exactly as it should have been - and exactly as it had always been before. 

Perhaps the fire-demon didn't notice, but in a way this, too, bothered Kurama. He had harbored a fondness for the jaganshi warrior for years now, and made no secret of it when they were alone, although he was still somewhat discrete. His touch was unnecessarily gentle in caring for Hiei's wounds - his intentions more of longing and wishful thinking than of seduction and conquest. As a youko he would have taken the fire-demon as a bed partner without a second thought - he very easily could have won over the frigid attitude, and prided himself in the fact that he had so leisurely broken what no other creature could touch - the fire-demon's virgin integrity. That was not what he wanted, though. Not anymore. As a human he had learned what it was to truly have family that loved and friends that cared, and sexual conquests no longer appealed to him as they had before. He yearned for something beyond just physical pleasure; he wanted more. He wanted the completion that came with love, the illusive contentment of appeasement within his heart. It was a foolish thing to wish it of Hiei, yet he was in truth the closest to Kurama, save for only Shiori - and they two in completely different ways that, once weighed against the other, came out nearly equal in attribute. 

Hiei, however, very rarely revealed any emotion beyond friendship, and had even told Kurama flat out the only words he had never wanted to hear - those four simple words that had been known to shatter one's world once spoken._ I don't love you._ [1] 

There was no doubt in his mind, however, that those words did not completely reflect how the fire-demon felt. There had been a kiss . . . once. There had been a thousand dream kisses, but only one real one . . . granted, Kurama had been poisoned and Hiei happened to be the only one in possession of the antidote . . . bit still. He hadn't exactly pulled away, either. That was the only comfort Kurama had at the moment - and he had clung to it so tightly over the past few months that he was afraid it was becoming tattered and useless. Hiei had done nothing since - whether in word, action, or deed, to signify that he felt anything other than the sometimes harsh and individual feelings of being his fighting partner towards him. 

"I was . . . I was worried about you." Kurama mumbled, looking away as he gathered up a few more bandages for Hiei's arm. He could feel the weight of the jaganshi's stare upon him, could feel the heat of his youki and the flickering suspicion of his thoughts brushing against his own; - it was disconcerting. At the most dangerous times - such as when both were fighting, or one seriously injured - there had been a sort of mental bond between them, a psychic link that had connected their thoughts. Kurama had never experienced that with anyone else . . . not even those he had trusted the most in his past life. He wasn't quite sure how it had begun but . . . but it was there. Strong and unmistakable, thrumming just beyond the reach of consciousness. Of unspoken agreement, neither would breach the thin veil separating their thoughts unless the other was aware and not opposed to the action, so Kurama had nothing to fear in the fact that Hiei might discover his true feelings and thoughts concerning the fire demon - and in a way, that was his worst bane. To have Hiei know, find out, discover of his own - or be told from someone else - was a thousand times easier than having him hear it from Kurama himself. And should rejection come, it would be much easier to handle, for Hiei was not the type to beat around the thorns; he'd probably come right and say - 

"I don't love you." 

Kurama stiffened, shutting his eyes tightly. His hands clenched upon the bandages that he held as he struggled to take in the breath that had come so easy for him only a moment ago. His composure slipped - but only for a moment. Barely a flicker of reaction crossed his features before they smoothed out and became calm; he opened his eyes - clear green eyes, with fickle highlights of amber gold - tilting his jaw just enough to be able to see Hiei's face. The jaganshi was sitting deathly still, leaning forward a bit, braced upon his hands as if he were bracing against himself. His dark red eyes were narrowed and focused, staring down resolutely at the carpeted ground a few inches below toe's reach. He didn't appear as if he was speaking to anyone other than himself - yet the inflection in his voice . . . left no room for doubt. 

Kurama said nothing as he continued wrapping Hiei's side, and did not look up again. Primly he looked after his own wounds, accepting the fire demon's stoic help in wrapping his arm when it came too difficult for him to do so on his own. Only as he finished and Hiei was once again pulling on his tattered shirt did he speak, and only then to say, "I must go and see if 'kaasan is well . . ." 

With a heavy breath of foreboding constricting his chest, he made his way down the stairs, one hand reaching out to trail along the wall of the hallway as he had once done as a child. He rounded the corner, hesitating at the doorway of the kitchen, caught between wanting to tell his mother everything - and wanting to hide her from the worlds and dangers she knew nothing about. It was too late, though, really - and he knew it, even as he drew himself up. For she was standing there at the sink, trying to wash dishes that he knew for a fact had already been washed; in one hand she held a dish, in the other a dripping rag, as her eyes lay glued to the scene beyond the kitchen window. Silently Kurama moved up to stand behind her, reaching out to brush a wrap of the curtain aside so he, too could see - and felt the dismay solidify within his heart. Beyond the window lay a world ravaged; huge grooves lay ripped from the ground, whole buildings toppled, a few fires burning uncontrollably, black and violet clouds rippling across heavens laced with strikes of lightning and roiling howls of thunder. It was a world beyond hell; a world split from its foundations and up - and his home, safe, amongst the rubble. 

"Shuuichi . . . what's - . . . what's happened?" 

Kurama set his hand upon her shoulder, saddened to feel a shiver move through her at his touch._ Life has happened, 'kaasan. Life, and death._ "- It . . . It's hard to explain. There's quite a lot - to tell." 

"Then you had better start at the beginning, ne?" Shiori turned to him with a tiny nod to her head and a forcedly cheerful smile - the kind of looks he had gotten when he had done something when he was young - something that had consequences that were often a bit intimidating. She slipped from his grasp easily, and sat herself down carefully at the kitchen table. She set her arms upon the table-top, the towel still clasped within her palms, and looked up to him with a maternal sternness, however gentle, within her gaze. Suddenly he felt himself as awkward and ashamed as a kitlet in his first life, and had to forcibly restrain himself from fiddling with his shirt and looking away. 

Instead, he clenched his hands . . . and looked away. 

How much was too much? How much could he tell her without telling her all - or any? Those were the questions circling within his mind, probing his thoughts both ancient as well as present for answers. He didn't have to tell her he was youko, only a spirit detective. Why was he a spirit detective? Because . . . he made a mistake? No . . . no, he had to - 

"Tell her, fox." 

Tell her, fox. Yes, that's what he had to do. Tell her, fox. Words that were so simple, so plain, so straight-forward, spoken from lips that never uttered what the being behind them did not feel with all assurance was the truth. Kurama closed his eyes . . . only to feel the slightly probing brush of Hiei's thoughts against his own._ Tell her._ With a sigh he met Hiei's dark, brooding crimson gaze. The fire-demon was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, his arms crossed decisively over his chest. His blade was missing - a fact that touched Kurama in some unspoken way, for he knew, even if Hiei himself didn't, that the absence of the weapon was one less reason to give cause to Shiori's fears. 

Shiori was wringing the towel within her hands, her brown eyes anxious and tense as she looked from the shadowed figured in the doorway . . . to her son. ". . . 'Fox'?" 

Kurama looked to her, then, and there was no way he could form a legitimate lie to cover his tail. He didn't really want to . . . but to tell his human mother, who was frail enough as it was . . . "'Kaasan . . . I have to tell you something . . ." 

**~ @ ~**

An hour later, Kurama sat in the chair across from her, watching for her reaction. Her hands were still clenched around the towel so hard her knuckles had grown white, although some time ago she had relaxed a shade - just enough to allow her to nod every once in a while, or voice a breathy, muffled gasp of a question here and there. There was a warring of souls within her eyes, a battle between belief and denial, although with every explanation Kurama uttered more and more of the denial faded. What was left behind lay only uneasy disorientation and slight fear - where had her child been, all those years? 

"Kaasan, I _was_ that child. I still _am_ your son." Kurama reached out to touch her hand as gently as he could. She didn't start or pull away; she was instead glancing from him to where Hiei sat upon the counter a few paces away with vague, unfocused brown eyes. 

"But . . . but Shuuichi . . ." 

"Is me." Kurama brushed his thumb along the back of her hand; she immediately turned her hand over to clasp his tightly. "I was always your son, Kaasan. It . . . all it is, is the thought of reincarnation. Most people don't remember their past lives until they are well into their present one. I . . . I was just born with the knowledge of my past life, and grew up knowing it." Shiori had a young, helpless look about her that tore straight through Kurama's heart, and wounded the youko soul. "Kaasan . . ." He took both of her palms in his, bowing his head a little. "Kaasan, in my first life, I was abandoned as a kit, when I was very young - only a few days old. I was forced to survive the only way I knew how, mostly by thievery, and the death of others in my way. I didn't know it in that life - didn't want to believe it, and so denied it - but I had a brother, and a sister. They are youko. They are staying at Genkai's temple, even now." 

"Sister . . . you have a sister?" That brought focus to her eyes, even if it was just a little. Shiori had always wanted a girl-child, although she had loved both her real son, as well as her adopted son, very much. 

"Hai." 

Her brown eyes focused a bit more as her resolve to handle the situation came together. Shiori had always been a strong woman - level-headed and brave in the most becoming way. She was actually handling what she had been told very well, and such acceptance - even though it was currently laced with traces of fear - gave Kurama hope. The fear was only of what she did not know or understand; it would fade. But the acceptance . . . would last a lifetime. Hesitantly she looked up to Hiei, who gazed back with expressionless crimson eyes. "And you . . . you are a - demon?" 

"A fire demon. Yes, Kaasan, he is." Kurama watched her reaction, carefully weighing the mirroring shades of fear, belief, and confusion in her features within his own mind. She was staring at Hiei as if she was sincerely trying to believe Kurama's claim . . . but it was a hard thing to do, considering Hiei looked so young and - 

Hiei scowled at Kurama, who tried to hide the smile tugging at his lips. Could he help it if he very human mother thought the fire-demon looked like a helpless child? Of course, she didn't know that he was quite a bit older than he appeared, either. Hiei braced his palms upon the counter and leapt off, coming up to the table with self-assured, almost haughty steps that belied the youthful look to his form; he moved as a warrior moved - with confidence, wariness, and stubborn pride. He balled his hand into a fist and held it out, arm straight and stiff, the muscles coiled beneath his flesh. His dark, velvet eyes lay upon the human woman before him solemnly, returning her confusion with an indecipherable look of his own. 

"Go on." Kurama gently urged his mother, carefully pulling his hands from her grip. "He won't hurt you." 

_ Not yet. _

- Hiei! Kurama frowned at the jaganshi, then caught himself and gave his mother a gentle, reassuring smile. Uneasily she glanced from him to Hiei and back again . . . before timidly reaching out to touch the small arm presented to her. Barely had her fingers met his flesh before she gasped and yanked her hand back, cradling it against her chest as if she had been stung. Her eyes widened in a look of fear - before being overshadowed by sudden, dawning understanding. She slowly released her hand, staring down at it as if she couldn't believe it had betrayed her by reacting the way that it had. 

Kurama knew well what she was feeling. 

Touching Hiei was like touching wires that were so cold they at first registered to one's mind as flaming hot with sharp, sparking jolts of ki, striking first at a human's psyche to produce shock and repulsion, then attacking one's nerves and physical reactions. Upon first touch, every human would react to Hiei's flesh as if they had touched a burning stove and snatch their hand back, only unsure in the moments following whether the feeling had been one of intense heat, or extreme cold. Similarly, his touch was just a vibrant, and just as lively. 

In a way, Kurama had often wondered if that was not one of the reasons why he was physically drawn to the jaganshi, as well as emotionally; Hiei's touch, although shocking at first, if borne past the initial panic of the human mind in fearing pain, became the most amazingly - passionate - touch any the youko had ever felt. If Hiei just left his hand upon Kurama's arm for too long, he found himself struggling to stop himself from jumping the fire-demon right then and there. That touch, once borne, was like an outside, insubstantial burst of pleasure mixed with pain, sent to Kurama through the direct conduit of flesh against flesh, and tagged and teased every sexually experienced, as well as inexperienced instinct in his body. 

Yuusuke hated having to touch Hiei, and so did Kuwabara. Rarely did they come to his aid when wounded, if it meant that they'd have to handle him without some physical distance such as bandages or cloth separating them; Kurama, however, loved the feel of the fire-demon. That was the reason - well, _one_ of the reasons - why he always tried to put an arm around Hiei's shoulder, or come in contact with him in some other, inconspicuous manner whenever they were near. He had been suspecting for quite a while now, and had almost come to the flat out conclusion that he was addicted to the feel of Hiei's touch. A silly thing to admit aloud, but true none-the-less. 

"Now do you see, Kaasan? I am not lying to you." _Never again._ Kurama nodded a little to answer Hiei's silent, questioning glance; the jaganshi moved back a half-pace, his arm still out before him. His hand loosened and turned, opening palm up. There was a flicker of strong, almost oppressing youki that brushed across their senses and then - a small brush of black fire arose from his palm, crimson ribbons teasing about its edges. Shiori's eyes grew wide again, tearing themselves away from the sight just long enough to see Kurama pull a seed from his hair. A pale blue and green lily - his mother's favorite flower - blossomed, dripping long, graceful petals from the tips of his fingers as he held it out to her. Hesitantly she reached out to take it - then gave a short, breathless laugh as she found it real, tears gathering upon her lashes. 

"It's . . . you really are -" 

Kurama leapt up, starting back so fast it knocked his chair to the floor as a scream unbearably high in pitch lanced straight through his mind, erupting around them into sound only seconds later. The black fire in Hiei's hand lashed violently once before it was literally swallowed and froze by a burst of ice come from the fire-demon himself; it slipped from his grasp and shattered upon the floor, tiny crystals of black and bloody crimson skittering across the polished wood. He snarled and whirled around, his katana appearing from the very depths of nothingness as he leapt through the now broken kitchen window. Kurama blinked, trying to gain his bearings again, grabbing the table for balance as he stared in shock at the shimmering chips of black ice upon the floor. _Impossible . . ._

"Hi - Hiei!" He pushed himself off from the table, his mother's cry echoing in his ears as he slammed into the back door, causing it to burst open, throwing him ungracefully out in the world beyond. The feel of Hiei's youki was strong and violent, leashed in the all-too familiar form of battle focus, blazing against a backdrop of mundane souls. "Hiei!" Kurama started out at a dead run to find the fire-demon - yet drew up short as a more human scream rent its way apart from behind him. He skidded to a halt, broken asphalt and mud catching at his feet as he glanced back at his house - and the back door still open. "_Kaasan._" He breathed, frantically glanced from the house where his mother had been - to the direction in which Hiei's youki burned. One second - only one second to decide - before he ran back the way he had come. The kitchen was darker than it had been, so it took his mind a moment to process the fact that a good portion of the darkness was do to dripping waves of blood splashed violently over the walls and floor. The table was shredded, pictures, dishes, curtains - everything, mutilated and tossed hither - the only peace amongst the violence and chaos the small lily he had created with his own hands. It lay untouched within a thick pool of darkened red blood, the shattered remnants of Hiei's icy-coated flame reflecting his own shadow back at him. Only a moment - he had been gone only one moment and yet this - 

Kurama coughed, covering his mouth with his hand before he stumbled back outside, biting down the urge to retch. The scent of the blood was over-powering - but unmistakably that of a demon, not human. Death could come to any in mere seconds, if rent by a demon claw but that - that which was left for him was a sign. A threat. He had seen and been witness to too many in his past life to not recognize it as such. Which meant that Kaasan was still alive, and most likely safe until - 

Kurama grunted, falling back to his knees as something heavy and blunt lashed against his skull. Instinctively he gripped his head in his hands, yet knew even as he did so that it would do no good; darkness was creeping slowly across his vision, held at bay only by the lethargic hesitation it took his body to fully succumb to unconsciousness. As if to mock him a shrill, chittering laugh erupted just beyond his sight; movement teased the shadows gathering upon him. "Yihihihi. Perty fox . . ." a tiny hand touched his head, petting his hair almost lovingly as the tinny voice whispered against his ear. "Rei-Kai Tan-Trei, ne? Hihihihi . . . one and one and one make . . . none . . . hihihi..." 

Darkness covered his vision, reaching up then with silken claws to steal his very thoughts out from beneath him, and he was left with nothing, save for one last, desperate plea. _Hiei . . ._

  
[1] those words have got to be the suckiest words in the human dialect. Side-note: the paragraph after that refers to 'Kiss of Poison,' and when Kurama's telling his 'kaasan the 'secret,' it refers to his sister - which alludes to 'Kitsune Tears.' ^^;; sorry for the plugs. 

**~@~**  
To Be Continued . . .  
**~@~**


	3. Lust: III

***********************  
Fires of Possession  
by: Guardian  
guardian@phayze.com  
personal rating: 10/10  
***********************

Author's Note: 

This'll be a short note, minna-sama, primarily in apology. Gomen nasai! I didn't intend to take this long in getting the parts out, and I promise they'll be coming quicker from now on. It will be finished most definitely by Samhain (Hallowe'en).

Warnings: LEMON! (finally... *rolls her eyes*) I'm not to happy with this one, but it's a beginner... I muchly like the second one better. ^__^;; Also - many, many, MANY thanks to Briana, who beta-read this fic part for me! *glomps* love ya, hun!

ja!

~ Guardian ~

*********************************************************************** ** Part III**

Kurama growled under his breath as he ran, leaping from the ground to one tattered pile of rubble, and then to another higher up until he came to what once had been the roof-top of a building three times the size of a normal shop. Now it was only a huge rectangular block of concrete and glass, lying crookedly among its own gore, no longer beautiful nor impressive. It was exactly how he felt at the moment; broken, helpless, yet ferocious - defiant. 

He wanted to scream, to shout out to his god and any others that may have been listening that he would not give up looking for her, he would die before he let it go, yet he didn't. Swiftly he leapt up to a higher perch than even the last, drawing nigh up in a crouch upon a jutting slab of stone, cold, hard golden eyes narrowing as he looked down upon the ground he had just left. Once, it had been almost like a home to him. Streets he had walked along every day, shops he and his mother had gone shopping within, park blocks where the whole of the Reikai Tantrei had gathered for more than one carefree picnic. Now, however, only memories remained. What lay before him was only a shadow of what it had once been; grass had been burned, trees felled, buildings shattered . . . all, gone. What once had been the human world complete and of its own was now only a figment of the imagination.

And it was all due to the dragon.

Koenma had been unable to supply them with a name, a motive, nor a path of action in dealing with this new threat. All he knew, all he told them, was that whatever the dragons had begun, was no where near its end. The second dragon - the male standing against Kurama - had ripped the Gate between the worlds apart; there was no longer a separation between the Makai and the Ningenkai. Still, they had been lucky. Only C-class demons and those lower in power had passed through the broken portal, and although there were many now running amok none had created too much trouble. There had been a few scuffles here and there - mostly between Yuusuke and Kuwabara and the opposing demons - but nothing overly worth attention. Kurama himself had joined in a few brawls with a pack of demon SnakeWolves; with Hiei at his side he had turned youko, and vented all the fury boiling in his veins upon the hapless creatures until they fled. He had given chase, but SnakeWolves were known for unsurpassable speeds, and he could only trace them so far before he couldn't even sense their youki.

What once had been fear, worry, and helplessness had turned to anger with the transition from his red-haired ningen form to his silver-tailed kitsune form. The change in thought patterns shared between the two different characterizations was more psychological than truth, or so Kurama suspected. He doubted that he was suffering from having two completely different personalities, and had been since birth. What he did believe was that he had more freedom, more reign to move as a creature born of anger and vengeance when in his more powerful - and more intimidating - youko form. 

Long, silken strands of hair whipped in the hot breezes whirling around him, tugging listlessly at his clothes, threatening to topple his precarious balance, yet he remained firm, a heavy frown upon his lips and in his gaze. The whole of the Tantrei had been looking for Shiori all day. Even there - in the darkened rubble of the streets below - he could still make out the flicker of a pearl-green tail as Shenjin in his fox form darted in and out of buildings and rubble. The two had opted to search the ten-block radius around his home; Yuusuke, Kuwabara, and Botan had taken the rest of the city; Hiei had taken the depth of the Gate itself, and beyond. There was no sign of her, however, and there stood no trace of her whereabouts. 

It was Hiei who was there when Kurama awoke - Hiei who had the fox in his arms and was checking him for more dangerous wounds than simply a knock on the head. Kurama had nearly burst into tears, the need to fall apart and tell someone was almost overpowering. He had known the situation, and yet still Hiei was silent as Kurama gripped his shirt, frantically trying to tell him about - about 'kaasan and all the - 

He didn't try to silence the fox's stumbling, half-whimpering words. He waited without a sound until Kurama could gather himself once more. Only then did he release the fox and pull away to stand, grabbing up his sword. He reached out a hand to help Kurama to his feet, and together they had gone to find Yuusuke, and to confront Koenma. After a time of angry words thrown back and forth between the two, neither Yuusuke nor the demigod could come up with any reasonable course of action - neither of them knew who might have tried to create such chaos in the Ningenkai. Although many demons had wanted to, even Kurama himself had voiced the realization that none of the most likely choices had enough contacts, nor enough guts to do so. They had no hints to follow, no leads to go on. The only thing they knew for sure was that Shiori had been kidnapped, and they fell on that for lack of any more solid trails to follow. 

And now, nine hours later, the city was growing darker as night drew in, and they were still no closer than before in locating her whereabouts.

"Uh, Kurama . . ." 

Silver ears swiveled to lie themselves tight against his skull as he slowly moved to glare over his shoulder. It was Kuwabara, and behind him, pushing him forward, was Yuusuke. Ever since he had turned Youko they had kept their distance from him - and well they should have. He was so emotionally unstable, even though clothed in his youko form, that his youki was erratic and somewhat violent, striking out if anyone or anything came too near to him. An almost palpable green haze glowed around him; yet his eyes, sharp and golden, were flat and emotionless. At times he seemed almost dead, walking, moving, breathing with only one purpose in mind.

He had tried to stop earlier in the day. They had needed rest, they had needed nourishment. Yet every time he slowed in his search, an image of that single, perfect blue-green lily, small and unharmed lying within crimson ribbons of blood and black shards of ice came to his mind, and he was unable to just let it be, even for a few minutes. 

Hiei had not found the creature that had caught his attention in the beginning, and caused his youki to flounder erratically from one element to another. He had followed the traces of power and almost come on its source - when it abruptly disappeared, its core flickering out of existence without so much as a trace as to where it had fled. Angered by this, Hiei had none the less chosen to bide his vengeance and wait. There was an indiscriminate feeling of assurance that the force would return; it was not so much an _if_, but rather a _when_. This appeased his fury and dampened the burning of his discordance to a more sedate hum. 

Without answering Kurama's questions regarding such a powerful foe, he had joined in looking for Shiori as if it didn't matter to him either way if she was found or not. Kurama was at first angered at his behavior, then took a pace back. He should expect no more from the jaganshi than he had already gotten, and so he held his tongue. Come the time when everyone wanted to rest, Hiei had watched him go to sit down, then stand up and pace, and then finally leave them as he moved on, restless. For a time, the fire-demon had even joined him as the others remained behind. There had been no trace of compassion or gentleness in those deep red eyes when Kurama had perchanced to catch Hiei's gaze, yet something in the youko arose even so in thanks, warming through the haze of numb anger to touch his aching heart. That look had so few descriptions and defined a thousand things the jaganshi warrior would never utter nor admit to aloud; it spoke of companionship, of understanding, of unspoken tolerance in regards to his partner - Kurama's - somewhat foolish and rashly-toned actions. He did not once voice word in disapproval when faced with the full brunt of the youko's pain, unleashed in violence on a helpless, lower-class demon that they happened to stumble upon every once in a while. He was silent as always, saying very little and implying nothing to betray what he truly felt regarding the situation. He helped in ways that were his own, and which were only recognizable to Kurama - who knew that although there was no true want or kindness in his assisting the search for Shiori, he was there none the less, and that made all the difference in the world. 

The glare burning in his golden eyes dimmed just a trace in the light of Yuusuke and Kuwabara's discomfort; Kurama's gaze drew back on itself, his eyes narrowing in an almost lazy, predatory manner too much like the cougar staring at the rabbit to please either of the two humans before him. In a slow, deliberate drawl that was more rumbling growl than true voice, the silver youko spoke, causing them to stiffen in preparation for flight. ". . . Nanda?" 

Kuwabara started, shoved forward again even as Yuusuke shrank back, trying to hide within his shadow. "O-oi . . . Kurama, eh . . . we thought maybe, uh . . . well, it's getting late and all, and . . ."

"We're tired, and shutting down for the night. We'll start looking for your Okaasan tomorrow morning, ne?" Yuusuke blurted, trying to gather his old humor about his form, yet failing horribly as the utterly emotionless amber gaze shifted to settle upon him. A chill crawled its way up his spine; he resisted the urge to shiver uneasily. "You . . . you should go home, Kurama." He continued on more earnestly, his tone becoming heavy and serious. "You'll burn yourself out if you keep on like this."

_. . . he's right_. Kurama slowly looked away, back out over the city that had once been his home, the words wringing true much too heavily in his soul. And what an interesting way to put it as well . . . to burn out. To expel so much energy and youki as to have none left to live. Foolish, really; to burn out, one must be made of flame, and there was only one fire-soul among the lot of them . . .

Without replying he rose, walking - not leaping, or running, or creeping as he had been for the whole day - down the crumbled ruins of the building on which he had perched, making his way through the ravaged neighborhood until he came to his own house - the only monument still standing in all its completion, unharmed, not a single chip of paint scratched or coated in dust. One step through the front door - only one step - and that was all it took for all his barriers and shields to fall. Slowly as he made his way, pace by weary pace, through the empty house, up the stairs and to his room, he released the tightly coiled locks of his youki and reverted once more to his ningen form, the transition reaching completion the instant he stepped into his den, letting the door swing shut behind him. For that one moment following, he couldn't breathe. It all came rushing back to him - all the pain, the disbelief, the over-whelming fear for his kaasan's safety.

His kaasan . . . the first creature he had learned to fully trust, to care for and love. She was the one person who had come to mean everything to him - from the beginning of life to the end. She was everything his first mother had not been - and everything he had never really wanted, but always needed. And now she was taken from him in the blink of an eye, stolen, gone without a trace . . . 

Pain lanced across his chest as he crumpled in on himself, lifting his arms to bury his face against the flesh of his wrists. He fell to his knees, hitting the carpeted floor with the soft whisper of a thud, his feet immediately twisting themselves out and loose at angles, forgotten as he rocked forward. His lips parted and a sound came from him, a thick, deep sound without language, portraying all of his helplessness, his agony, in a moan of unfettered and unleashed self-loathing. He should have stayed behind, with her . . . he should have remained. But he hadn't and now she was gone to whatever demons had chosen to claim her, to be used however they deemed fit. 

Images of her wounded, bloodied and raped, beaten and harmed arose to his mind, somehow finding purchase behind his eyes, even as the dampness of tears gathered on his lashes, two tears slipping free to trail down his cheeks. Almost as if those two tears had held the weight of all his sadness within them, the pain gathering in his chest eased, and the calm once more returned to take hold of his soul. There was no shaking that away - he was the youko and the youko was within him; long ago the silver thief had been instilled with the instinctive ability to mask his pain, to hide it away until it died out and left him be. He could no more shake away that instinct now as he could simply bring his 'Kaasan back home.

The brush of a dark youki caressing the shadow of his thoughts and the feel of a demon's presence caused him to pull himself together a little more; he pushed himself up to sit, using his left fore-arm as a brace against the floor as he looked up, his weary gaze lifting to the window. Hiei sat there, his sword held firmly in his fist, angled toward the ground as the fire-demon crouched at the sill, his eyes dark and fathomless. He said nothing, simply waited until with a low, trembling sigh Kurama pushed himself to sit up fully. The ningen-youko leaned back, his hands lying limply, palms-up, within his lap. 

"I don't know where she is, Hiei . . ." he whispered, knowing the jaganshi didn't care - perhaps never really would - yet hoping still that eventually the fire-demon would come to understand. Hiei slipped free from the window-ledge, his booted feet whispering silently across the floor as he made his way over to Kurama's desk, setting his blade down very carefully along its varnished wooden surface. "You have wounds that need looking after, fox."

". . . do I?" Kurama looked up, his gaze vague and indistinct as unfocused green eyes then lowered to look at himself and his currently human body; Hiei was right, there were a few wounds - none deep or overly dangerous, but wounds none the less that needed tending. He shook himself, rising to his feet. "How are your bandages?"

Hiei bore silently as the red-headed ningen came up behind him, touching his arm and moving his elbow out of the way so the latter could get a better view of the off-white wraps encircling his chest, ribs, and waist. Although he did not struggle as Kurama lifted the tattered black folds of his shirt in which to see the bindings better, he did not exactly help in the inspection; Kurama had to move him at every moment, either a pace back or a little forward, lifting his arms or brushing his shirt aside. The fox didn't seem to notice nor realize; he was used to this distant, silent aspect of his partner, and was not intimidated as he bid Hiei sit once more on his desk so he could clean and re-wrap the fire-demon's wounds. For the second time that day, Hiei's shirt was discarded to the side.

Kurama's head was bowed much as it had been that morning, his thoughts running a very similar vein as he braced the last few bandages and tied them off. Whether for better or worse, the pain within him - that which had stolen most of his will to do anything at all - also dulled him to the point that he just . . . no longer cared. He thought over the many mates he had had in his first life - and of how very different his feelings for Hiei were. He thought of the first - the only - kiss he and his partner had shared, imperceptibly leaning closer to the jaganshi. Jaded green eyes flittered up to meet burning crimson as Kurama matched Hiei's shuttered gaze. Not a thought crossed his mind, not a fear, nor acknowledgement of consequence, came forth to still him as he slowly began to close the distance separating them. His eyes faltered and fell to Hiei's lips, focusing there for lack of strength to bare that piercing gaze any longer. Just before the movement would have found its breath within a kiss, a single phrase broke the air between them - "I don't love you." - as the fire demon leaned back just a shade, not quite drawing away, just prolonging the touch of the fox's mouth to his. Kurama stilled, a shard of ice embedding itself within his heart. He did not look up; he couldn't, and so he stared instead at Hiei's lips. "I know." he whispered thickly, "It . . . doesn't matter."

Hiei watched the dull shades of green wreak havoc within Kurama's eyes, interlaced every few moments with a shimmer of gold, waiting - simply waiting. He could feel the youko's pain thrumming like an almost substantial force between them - just as he could feel the fox's need as well. He needed . . . to forget. 

"Hai." Kurama swallowed, his words husky and deep as he closed his eyes and drifted closer, his mouth a brush against Hiei's to match the whisper of his words. "Make me forget, Hiei . . ." For a moment there was no response, and Kurama's heart plummeted; would Hiei not allow him this one last torture, demon to demon? Hiei then shifted, his lips parting beneath Kurama's, his tongue slipping free to forcefully break through and invade Kurama's mouth. His hands came up, his touch like fire and ice and leashed violence as they touched him, one at his shoulder, the other burying itself almost ferociously in the long red locks of his hair, clenching within the softness before loosening once again. Kurama winced, but did not pull away; he leaned into that ferocity, wrapping his arms around the fire-demon, welcoming the physical distraction - whether of pleasure or pain, for both would work for now. He started to take control of the kiss, to shift it, slow it perhaps, but Hiei's hand tightened its grip within his hair, holding him firmly in place. The fire demon gave not an inch, ravaging the softness of Kurama's mouth without mercy, without kindness. 

_Is this what you want, Kurama? Is this really what you've been yearning for?_

Kurama gasped, throwing his head back in pleasure, a groan escaping his lips as he struggled to drag air back into his lungs, the heat brought on by Hiei's touch making it hard to remain sane. The hand at his shoulder had trailed down to his chest and lower, to his waist. A swathe of warmth and the suckle of lips on his throat was followed immediately by a harsh tug at the lip of his pants as he was pulled roughly forward between Hiei's thighs. He grunted, his eyes squeezing shut as once again breath escaped him, the feel of the fire-demon's legs tightening at his hips sending an erotic shock throughout his whole body. He whispered Hiei's name, his hands roaming along the jaganshi's back and curling up to clench around on strong, compact shoulder. He wanted this . . . this harshness, this violence, this forcing. He wanted to forget ever feeling for anyone, ever falling in love . . .

He wasn't quite sure how he became the submissive; one moment a hot, demanding mouth was moving over his own, nimble fingers ridding the obstacle of his shirt aside - the next he found himself thrown on his bed, crying out hoarsely as Hiei's bare hands slid down his sides in one slow, forceful motion, spreading the touch of fire and numbing ice through every nerve ending in his form. He couldn't catch up, had no time to recover nor retaliate as sharp little teeth and a warm, velvet tongue fell to one nipple and then the other, small yet unbelievably strong hands setting at his hips and lifting him from the bed - bringing his clothed erection up hard against Hiei's own as another muffled cry escaped from breathless lips - his pants soon following the path of his shirt to disappear beyond the bed. His last vestiges of clothing soon followed suit, to be forgotten the instant they were gone.

Kurama didn't realize what Hiei had in mind until that warm mouth paused above his belly, sharp teeth nipping his flesh just hard enough to leave a mark, a drop of blood coming forth, only to be swiped away by the fire-demon's tongue. He tried to protest, struggled a little and reached down to touch Hiei's shoulder; he found his wrist clasped in a grip of iron and pressed to the mattress beneath them as - abruptly and without warning - he was enveloped in a tight, wet warmth that sent a shudder of pleasure through him. Unconsciously his thighs parted a little more, welcoming the touch, even as his free hand braced itself against Hiei's shoulder, feebly trying to push him away without really exerting effort into the task. Hiei has ignored this, his arm locking around Kurama's hips to hold him firm as his mouth moved; his tongue swirled around the root of the fox's erection, bringing him to the verge of completion within the first few moments. The combined feel of Hiei's shocking touch and the hot, moist pressure of his mouth working purposefully along his length caused Kurama's body to react of its own accord, bucking against the fire-demon, thrusting into that warm mouth, even as the youko's free hand drifted from Hiei's shoulder to his spiky black hair. Kurama cried out yet again, his back arching against the bed, his eyes squeezing shut nearly to the point of causing pain. Dusky silver lights glowed behind his eyelids, met and enhanced by the completion of his orgasm; tears once again slipped from between his lashes to fall unnoticed, despite the shivering waves of pleasure that were causing his muscles to simultaneously clench and loosen, his whole body relaxing as within his mind, the same three words ran over and over across his thoughts.

_Not like this. I didn't want it . . . like this._

He pressed his jaws together tightly, refusing to face the depth of the shame and disappointment arising within him. In only a few short hours he had nearly lost all that Shuuichi had ever been - all his humanity had fled with Shiori's captors and so, too now, had his honor. He was once again the notorious youko, fallen back into that aspect borne in its most loathsome formation - that of being the insatiable lover - in a single moment of desperation. 

He turned his face aside, refusing to open his eyes as he lay, Hiei's head resting on the smooth dip of his belly. A single tear - the last for this evening - drifted free to follow the path of its kin as gently, almost tenderly, he allowed his fingers to sift through the soft, spiky black hair of his partner.

Hiei stirred, lifting his head and looking to Kurama's averted face, a scowl on his lips. The sadness was back, more open and bared this time, plain for all to see should they dare to look. At the sight of that last tear, a deep, bone-shearing growl began in the back of his throat; dark, startled emerald eyes snapped open in shock - too late, as Hiei's mouth descended to capture Kurama's once again. A muffled explanation of surprise was all that escaped as Hiei shifted his position, his hands slipping down to Kurama's legs, palms brushing across tender inner thighs before he moved them out a little more, settling himself between them. As Kurama's hand came up to still him he grabbed that silken wrist and pressed it to the mattress again, holding the youko captive as his tongue explored the depths of Kurama's mouth, drawing the kitsune forth to a startling, if unexpected reaction. At least, to the human. Kurama groaned beneath Hiei's lips, reluctantly melting back into the blankets again as Hiei's hand slipped down to roughly fondle and caress the reviving length of his member. His touch was like molten heat and like damp, illusive fog, drifting over Kurama's body, igniting physical lust and emotional pain within such that the youko had never felt before. He couldn't recognize all the new feelings and emotions raging within him, borne from Hiei's able hands, nor did he have the time to do so. The fire-demon was intent and almost brutal in his manner, bringing the very basest of feelings of lust to rise within them both and burning it within the heat of his own inner fire, destroying it even as it came between them, all in the name of distraction - of a need, a wish, a yearning to simply forget . . . 

Kurama's mind reeled, unable to comprehend all that was happening to him, unable to keep up with the speed with which it came, yet even so the touch of Hiei's fingers at his entrance sent a familiar jolt through him - one that grounded his disorientation even as his hips bucked up, met and matched by Hiei's own. Hiei thrust against him, the fiber-spun feel of his pants sending Kurama's pleasure to new and undiscovered heights as it brushed roughly, almost harshly against the tenderness of his flesh. Thus distracted, he hardly noticed as one finger slipped into him and moved, stretching him and bringing a tinge of pain where there had been none before. A second finger - and Kurama jerked, gasping, his hands clawing at Hiei's shoulders as he bared his teeth in a silent, purring snarl. A third . . . and then movement as Hiei's hand worked against him, taunting Kurama's body, teasing it until unwittingly the youko was reacting, panting softly as his hips rocked up, mimicking the jaganshi's pace. Kurama protested as the hand retreated, yet was placated a moment later - distracted and appeased - as Hiei's hand gripped his hips and pressed him against the bed. The jaganshi's last vestiges of clothing had been tossed aside; with one heavy, hard thrust he buried himself in Kurama's body. The fox shouted hoarsely, his legs tightening against Hiei as he struggled to remember what it was like in his first life to be taken. 

He was still inexperienced, his human body still naïve and virgin, and screamed in silent agony at the painful feel of being ripped and filled. He bowed his head and panted, his hand clenching convulsively around Hiei's arm as he forced himself to ignore the pain, to relax his muscles and welcome the intrusion . . . Unnoticed, Hiei remained still, calmly waiting for the fox beneath him to adjust, the dark, single-minded shadows within his eyes faltering for one brief, flickering second in the view of Kurama's initial reaction. For a single moment there was hesitation, timidity, guilt, remorse - before Kurama settled back with a threaded sigh, relaxing against Hiei, a few damp locks of red hair clinging to the flush of his cheeks and slim throat. Almost gently Hiei reached up, his hand brushing the locks away. Kurama's green eyes blinked open at the unexpected tenderness of his touch. Hiei said nothing, his own gaze emotionless and silent in regards to the question he read within Kurama's features; without a word his hips flexed sharply as he drew back and buried himself in Kurama once more, causing the kitsune to groan and react, bucking up to meet him. With a low, fettered growl Hiei bowed his head and thrust again, harder this time, and then again, demanding Kurama to find him, to catch up with the wild, fierce pace he set. Kurama met him each time, taking all he could and begging for more - begging to be ruled, to be over-taken, to be forced to forgetfulness. Each whispered plea begged for release; each desperate whimper pleaded for silence. Unbeknownst to him, every noise and yip of pleasure that escaped from his lips, every breathless cry and softened moan effected Hiei, moving the jaganshi to drive him harder and faster, anything to be rid of those sounds that threatened to undo all the tight-laced control he had around his soul. 

With one last, particularly sharp thrust Kurama writhed against him, a strangled noise lost in the back of his throat; Hiei's mouth captured his own just as the sticky warmth of his release spilled between them, Hiei's own seed spreading heat and power within him. One last kiss, rough in the beggining yet almost tender toward the end was given, the touch of their lips almost - but not quite - lingering. As they drew apart Hiei sat up, releasing the fox to collapse, exhausted and spent upon the bed. He stood, leaving Kurama behind as he kneeled by his discarded coat, pulling out a small, sharp dagger. This he laid carefully on the floor below and just beneath the lip of Kurama's bed. He moved back to lay down, his brooding frown faltering a little as Kurama - mostly asleep and too far gone to realize what he was doing - snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around the jaganshi's waist to drag him near. Hiei bore this silently, lying back without a word. The moment he had settled Kurama shifted again, the kitsune unconsciously moving just enough to align the shape of their bodies comfortably against one another, as if they had been made for just that purpose since before they were born. Hiei hesitated, his glare narrowed on the gentle, sleeping face of the human-youko spirit lying against him; deliberately he rolled on his side and put his back to Kurama, curling away from the fox as he too, allowed himself to close his eyes and fall into the shallow depths of sleep. 

**~@~**  
To Be Continued . . .  
**~@~**


End file.
